


Blink of an Eye

by reve_silencieux



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, White Collar Big Bang 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 00:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8689240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reve_silencieux/pseuds/reve_silencieux
Summary: In the blink of an eye, life can change, and all your plans crumble to pieces. An alternate beginning to S5 after Peter is arrested, but Neal saves the day—which is not without major consequences that everyone will have to learn how to deal with.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Written for White Collar Big Bang 2016. See all of Aragarna's art [here!](http://aragarna.livejournal.com/197285.html)

“ _No_ ,” Peter ground out, yanking his arm from Neal’s grip and glaring at the younger man.

Neal skidded to a stop and shook his head. He wasn’t surprised by Peter’s reaction, given the man’s unfailing belief in the justice system, though he’d hoped his sense of preservation would win out just this once. 

It was bad enough that Peter had been moments away from a career-ending indictment, but they’d just barely escaped from several men ready to take Peter’s life in a hail of gunfire. Neal had taken advantage of the confusion in the courtroom to grab Peter and run.

Now, he quickly glanced back to where they’d come, making sure there wasn’t anyone following. Someone would undoubtedly find them any minute now.

“This is not how I want to do it, Neal.”

“Well, unless you want to do it dead, I’d suggest you come with me, Peter,” Neal argued, nervously looking over his shoulder and then to the nearest exit. He could hear the footsteps running on the marble floors of the courthouse. He tugged on Peter’s arm and tried to get the man moving, but Peter was having none of it.

“What?!” Peter's eyes widened and he instinctively went for his gun, only seconds later remembering he didn’t have it anymore.

Neal waved a hand back towards the main hall. “James wants you dead. That distraction back there was meant for you. They would have gotten to you if Mozzie hadn’t gotten word from the street that there was a hit out for you. We have to go, _now_.”

Peter reluctantly followed when Neal grabbed his arm one more time. Their pace quickened when the footsteps got louder. “Why didn’t you tell Jones and Diana? They would have done something.”

“I did.” 

Neal could hear their voices. He started to run, pulling Peter down a smaller corridor and ducking past an _Employees Only_ sign that took them to the back of the court house. “They couldn’t do anything. Security was alerted, but their hands were tied. Callaway didn’t believe me anyway.”

There were a few choice words muttered by Peter as they ran down another corridor full of offices. “I knew I couldn’t trust her.”

“Yeah, well, we’re working on that,” Neal replied tersely. “Hughes has been digging up everything he can on her and borrowing all the favors he can to help you out.” 

Neal slowed down and peered around a corner, putting a hand on Peter’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. The sound of their heavy breathing filled the air, but thankfully the hallway was clear of any court employees or security at the moment.

They crept silently, making their way to the exit at the far end of the hallway—a stairwell that would get them to the maintenance area and the loading docks where Mozzie would be waiting. Each office they passed, Neal held his breath, hoping no one would pop out and try to play the hero. Opening the door to the stairwell as quietly as he could, Neal listened for any indication of security and FBI sweeping through. 

There was none.

Waving Peter on, Neal cast one last glance around before following him and closing the door quietly behind him. The click of the door’s latch bounced loudly against the concrete walls of the empty stairwell, but Neal knew it couldn't be helped. They hurried down the two flights of stairs and were steps away from the exit when a door banged open above them. Sharing a panicked look, they raced out and Neal led the way through the maintenance corridors. Heavy footsteps thundering in the distance spurred them on and Neal wordlessly pointed to the door that was their goal, the building's loading dock.

Seconds after bursting through the door, Neal heard the unmistakable click of a gun cocking. His eyes immediately took in their surroundings, an otherwise empty loading dock with no security guards or FBI agents in sight. Spinning around, he spotted James holding a gun to Peter's head. His hands balled into fists when he saw Peter's stony expression and glanced over to his father. James was staring at him, a determined look on his face. Neal raised his hands, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath and slow his rapidly beating heart.

“Don't do this,” he begged.

James shook his head in disgust. “Nice to see you too, son. I see you didn't take my advice.” He nudged Peter forward, out towards the middle of the loading dock. Neal turned, following them with his eyes.

“Maybe I wanted to be a better man than you. I'm brave enough to accept the consequences of my own actions. But I won't let Peter be the one to take the fall for yours.”

James chuckled. “Nice speech, but it's not going to change my mind or the outcome here. Thanks, by the way, for being so predictable. I'd hoped you bring him here. Makes my life so much easier.”

Peter clenched his jaw and his body tensed. He brought his shoulders up, coiled and ready to strike, but otherwise kept still. Their eyes met, and Peter gave him an imperceptible nod. It wasn’t over yet, and more importantly, Peter wasn’t blaming him.

Neal glanced away and stared down his father. His eyes flashed with anger, but he schooled his face carefully, belying the depth of emotion churning through him. “Why?”

“Whether they believe him or not, Burke is the only other person who was there, and I can't wait around, hoping that they'll give up on proving it was me.”

“This won't help your case, James,” Neal's voice turned cold. “They'll know you killed him. If anything, it'll just prove that Peter was framed all along.”

James let out a bitter laugh. “Why would they? You think they'll believe you? A convicted felon who stole the evidence box underneath their noses? Who escapes when the going gets tough? I kill him and you'll run. You don't want to take the fall either.”

“They don't have to believe me. There are cameras.”

“You think I'm stupid? I disabled them. No one's watching, Neal. It's your word against theirs.”

Neal finally smiled and lowered his arms. “I know. I figured as much. So it's a good thing I brought my own.”

The gun wavered in the air as James frowned, quickly looking around. Peter shot Neal a curious look to which Neal just grinned triumphantly. “You see, I knew you'd want to kill him yourself, but you wouldn't try anything in the courthouse. Security's too tight. You needed him outside and knew I'd try to save him. I may be predictable, but I know how to plan ahead. And I always have backup.”

James scowled and his eyes flared. “You little bastard.” Shaking his head, his mouth curled up in a sadistic grin. “It doesn't matter. I still have the upper hand here.” He nudged Peter with the gun again.

Neal shrugged. “Maybe, but there are also FBI agents moments away from barging through that door, and this time, you won't get away with it—any of it. You pretty much signed your confession. And if you don't believe me, say hi to the camera.” He waved his hand to the far wall of the dock where Mozzie stepped out, holding a video camera.

In the blink of an eye, James' hand moved a fraction of an inch, and the sound of a gunshot reverberated in the air as Mozzie ducked around the corner with a yelp. James moved his sights back toward Peter, and Neal moved without thinking, shoving Peter aside and lunging towards his father. Neal barely registered the sound of a door crashing as he and James went down in a tangled heap of limbs, Neal desperately clawing for the gun. James angrily fought back and, before the agents could get to them, another gunshot sounded. 

Neal was pushed away as James jumped to his feet. The momentum sent Neal tumbling down the ramp. He bounced against the concrete before he fell off the ramp and crashed three feet to the ground. With a loud crack as his head hit connected with the pavement, his body came to rest.

“Neal!” Peter screamed, running toward him as agents swarmed the dock yelling, and James started to run away. Two gunshots rang out and James fell down. Peter skidded to his feet, falling on the ground beside Neal's still body. He pushed aside Neal's suit coat, revealing the hole in his stomach bleeding profusely. Without pause he pressed his hands down, trying to staunch the flow of blood. 

Diana called out, but Peter’s focus did not waver, crying out Neal’s name. Blood running down the side of his head, Neal’s eyes stared up into the sky, deaf to Peter’s desperate cries. Arms quickly encircled him, and Peter lashed out as agents pulled him away.

“Neal! Neal! _Neal!_ ”


	2. Part One

Neal felt as if someone was holding him down. He couldn’t move. Struggling against the unknown, he fought hard, but it was too strong. His limbs felt heavy when he tried to pick up his arms, wanting to push it away, but they wouldn’t respond. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out and soon he felt himself drifting back into the abyss, forgetting that anything had ever happened.

He wasn’t aware of the erratic beeping that filled the air with his frantic attempts to move as his heart started beating rapidly. Or the hurried footsteps of the nurse rushing to his side just as he sank back into a restful sleep.

The next time Neal started to rouse, his arms were lighter, but still he jerked around and fought to free himself.

“Come on, open your eyes... I want to see those famous baby blues I’ve heard so much about, Mr. Caffrey,” a soft voice filtered through his head.

He didn’t recognize the voice. Faceless names swam through his head and it felt like he was battling a raging current, the water taking him away.

A blurry face hovered over him and he blinked several times, tears filling his eyes as he tried to focus.

“That’s it... stay with me... can you look at me, Mr. Caffrey?” the faceless voice continued, shifting to his left and he moved his head slightly, following her with his eyes.

A tissue wiped away his tears and he blinked again, the face becoming clearer. She was smiling wide and he wanted to ask her what was going on, but he felt the familiar tug of sleep pulling at him again. His eyes started to flutter as he heard her voice once more.

“Welcome back, Neal.”

*~*~*~*

When asked later, Neal would not recall the several times he woke up over the next few days, each one progressively longer than the last, but never to the point where regained full consciousness. While disheartening to those who watched, they knew it would just take time. He responded to his name and could track a nurse’s finger, and that was a good sign.

He just wasn’t truly awake.

That day would come almost a week later.

*~*~*~*

Neal opened his eyes and the fog that he’d been in, had cleared. He glanced around, disoriented and confused, with a fleeting sense of panic once he realized he was in a hospital, but it quelled at the sight of Peter off to his side. A stack of folders was dumped on the chair next to him, and one sat in his lap while he scribbled notes on a legal pad. Neal couldn’t say why, but a feeling of relief filled him.

His mind was still fuzzy, but he knew that it was a good thing to see his friend there. Neal tried to get Peter’s attention, opening his mouth and calling out his name. A garbled sound was all he got for his efforts.

But Peter heard him and his head shot up, his whole face alight. A smile stretched from ear to ear and he threw the folder aside.

“Neal!” 

Peter was at his side in an instant.

 _Peter_ , he mouthed, and if it was even possible, Peter looked even happier with that one word.

Reaching over the bed's railing, Peter squeezed his hand, beaming, and Neal tiredly smiled back. He could barely exert any pressure to squeeze back, but Peter didn't seem to mind.

“Hey there. Can you hear me?” Peter asked, and his eyes danced anxiously over Neal’s face.

Neal nodded. 

“Good.” Peter released a deep breath and a nervous laugh escaped him. “That’s good.” He shook his head and smiled widely. “You're in the hospital, but don't worry, you're going to be fine. Just fine.” He patted his arm uncomfortably. “I, uh… I should go get the nurse. You just stay awake, you hear me? Don't close your eyes.”

Neal watched him leave and looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. He was in a private room, with the lights dimmed low and no artwork to be seen on any of the walls. He didn't know if this was a good or bad thing, considering the usual fare hospitals displayed with their meager budgets. All the usual hospital equipment was beeping away, a nasal cannula rested under his nose, and assorted IV's, wires and other things he didn't want to think about were trailing over his arms and chest. 

He felt something taped to his stomach and he frowned, trying to remember what had happened. But before he could try to piece anything together, a young woman wearing colorful scrubs walked in, followed by Peter, who quickly reclaimed his spot by Neal’s side.

She stopped at head of the bed and smiled softly. “Mr. Caffrey, it’s good to see you awake again. You probably don’t remember me, but my name's Lucy.” Leaning into him slightly, she shined a light in his eyes. He scrunched up his eyes and turned his head away, grunting.

“Sorry, I know it’s bright. Can you look back at me? I promise not to shine it in your eyes again.”

Neal cautiously turned back and glanced at her wearily. Still smiling, she picked up his right hand and squeezed a finger. He jerked his hand away, and it fell limply to the bed. 

Lucy patted his shoulder. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but you’re doing extremely well, Mr. Caffrey. Now, I bet you’re thirsty. How about we get you some water?”

She pushed a few buttons to his side and he felt the bed raise up slowly. He closed his eyes as dizziness overwhelmed him and moaned as bright lights flashed in his eyes.

“Breathe slowly, Mr. Caffrey. We'll only go a little at a time. In and out,” she instructed softly.

He felt Peter squeeze his hand again and he nodded, taking deep breaths. After a couple of minutes, he opened his eyes and gave them a small smile. Peter was looking at him anxiously, but Lucy appeared pleased with his progress. The bed moved once more and Neal closed his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass again. A cup of water with a straw was waiting for him when he opened them a few minutes later. 

“Slowly,” she warned as she held it up to his mouth.

It took more effort than he thought possible to lift his head, and he fell back after only a few sips.

“..anks,” he whispered.

Both Lucy and Peter brightened, and Lucy put down the cup to jot something down on a clipboard at his side.

“It's wonderful to hear your voice, Mr. Caffrey. I have to say, I've heard a lot about you, and your charm and reputation precede you, so just know I've been warned,” she teased lightly as she checked his vitals and wrote some more on her clipboard. “And just remember when you do try to charm me, I've seen _all_ of you. So I hope you aren't too bashful.”

Neal's eyes widened and he felt his face flush at the implication.

Peter laughed. “Oh, Neal usually likes the attention, especially from pretty women.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, winking at him, then glanced over to Peter. “I’m going to go get the doctor. You keep him awake.”

Once Lucy was gone, Peter pulled his chair up closer to the bed. “It is so good to see you, buddy. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for you to wake up.”

Neal opened his mouth to ask what happened, but Peter pointed to the water glass. “Do you want more water?”

Peter reached over and picked it up before Neal could say anything. He held it in front of him, and Neal reluctantly sipped. 

“Everything’s going to be fine, Neal,” Peter said, with a big smile on his face and Neal frowned. 

Something didn’t feel right. 

Lucy walked back in then, and Peter took the glass back.

“You’re the biggest talk of the floor, Mr. Caffrey. Everyone’s anxious to meet you.” She gave him a bright smile. “I guess I’m the lucky one, aren’t I? Of course, your friend here has been the most anxious. He’s been at your side for a week now.”

Neal turned to Peter and looked at him curiously.

“You’ve been in and out of it,” Peter explained. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

“Do you remember waking up?” Lucy asked.

Neal shook his head.

“That’s okay.” Lucy patted him on the shoulder once more. “It’s perfectly normal. But I think you’re out of the woods now.”

“Wh…” he tried to talk, but struggled to vocalize the simple word.

“You’re going to be fine, Neal,” Peter quickly reassured him once more.

The doctor walked in at that moment and Lucy stepped aside, moving to stand next to Peter. He was an older gentleman, with salt-and-pepper hair and a few wrinkles around his eyes. There was a relaxed demeanor about him, far from the rushed and frantic doctors seen in an ER.

“Mr. Caffrey, I'm Dr. Sutton. Do you know where you are?” he asked, pulling out a penlight.

Neal nodded. “Hos..p..tal.”

Dr. Sutton clicked on the penlight and waved it across Neal's eyes. He hummed in response when Neal blinked and shut his eyes. “Can you tell me your full name?”

“Neal... Geor...Caf...Caf-rey,” he stuttered.

Holding up his hand, Dr. Sutton asked, “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fo-r.”

He nodded. “Good. How do you feel? Does your head hurt?”

Neal shook his head. “Diz-zy. Sick.” Dr. Sutton turned to Lucy and conferred with her softly before she left the room.

“Okay, we'll get you something for that. What's the last thing you remember?”

Neal paused. His head was pounding and everything still felt fuzzy. He glanced at Peter, who was gripping the railing, looking extremely nervous. With his line of work, he knew something bad had happened, but nothing was coming to him. Finally, something flashed in his mind and he saw Mozzie leaning over his kitchen table.

“Ho..m... Moz..e.”

Lucy walked back in and injected something into his IV. Dr. Sutton grabbed a stool from the far wall and sat down. “Mr. Caffrey, I know you're probably confused right now, and that's normal. You were seriously injured and you might never remember that day. Do you feel up to me explaining? If not, we can go through this later.”

“N..ow.”

“Okay, but if you need me to stop, just say so.”

Neal nodded and tried to give him his best Caffrey smile, but knew he was falling short.

“From what I've been told, there was an altercation. You were shot in the abdomen.” Dr. Sutton paused, and Neal frowned. His stomach didn't hurt, but he guessed there were good drugs pumping through him. “You fell and your skull was cracked, and there was bleeding in your brain. All of this trauma caused severe swelling that required surgery.” He stopped once more, observing Neal.

Fear gripped Neal and his arm shook as he tried to raise his hand to his head. But it didn't respond to his command, and his heart started beating rapidly as the doctor's words started to sink in. He glanced at Peter with a terrified expression, not used to being so out of control. Peter took his hand again and squeezed tight, giving him a big smile. “Don't worry, Neal, you still have a full head of hair.”

Peter's joke did nothing to calm Neal and he turned to the doctor. “Ho...how bad?”

Dr. Sutton seemed to understand his alarm, and he crossed his arms over his chest, his face pulled tight. “Initial scans didn’t show any brain damage, and once the swelling reduced, all the tests confirmed no physical damage. Everyone was optimistic that you would recover. But then, you didn’t wake up, and slipped into a coma.”

Neal’s eyes widened.

“While this is a normal reaction to considerable head trauma since the body needs time to heal, there was concern that something else was wrong. We still have no clear answer as to why your coma persisted, but it is a good sign that you are awake now and talking. It may simply be that your body decided it needed a longer time to heal.”

Neal wasn't quite reassured by the doctor's words, and even more confused by the looks Peter was shooting him. His body didn't feel like his own, but they weren't telling him anything different. He told himself not to panic just yet. He looked to Peter again, the unasked question in his eyes and Peter took a deep breath.

“Three years, Neal. You've been in a coma for three years.”

*~*~*~*

After a few hours of explanations, questions and more tests, Neal fell asleep. Elizabeth joined Peter at his bedside, a familiar vigil for both of them, and they wordlessly held each other as they watched over him. It was a sight they were used to, and they worried that today was somehow a fluke, that he wouldn't wake up again. The doctor reassured them that Neal was back with them for good, but until they saw his eyes open again, they were afraid to believe it.

They knew it was a miracle that he woke up to begin with, but it was hard to believe in miracles when they'd been wishing for one for so long. The road ahead for Neal was long and it was going to be a struggle to get back to where they left off—if that was even possible. There would be weeks, if not months, of physical and occupational therapy. Only time would tell if there was any lingering damage, but for now his body was like a baby, newly born and not quite functioning. He had no strength, no stamina, and his muscles were atrophied. His brain was still trying to wake up and restart, and it was very likely that he would have to relearn basic skills all over again.

And that was just the physical. Peter had seen the fear and anguish in Neal's eyes and knew the emotional toll would be even harder to overcome.

The world had moved on without Neal Caffrey.

*~*~*~*

When he woke up that evening, Elizabeth was all over him, crying and hugging him. Peter held back, a quiet smile on his face as he watched them. Neal glanced between them, the burning question in his eyes, but Peter just shook his head and said, “Later.”

They talked until Elizabeth yawned, and Neal could barely keep his eyes open. Conversation was kept light, catching him up on the goings-on in the Burke household, Elizabeth’s job and New York. Neal, for his part, mostly listened, but talked as much as he could. His voice was slow and hesitant, and several times he had to just stop and try to find the right word. Elizabeth jumped in, chatting away with a smile, obviously trying to keep him from getting too worked up or frustrated.

The next morning, Peter returned without Elizabeth. Neal was awake and sitting up when he walked in, and hoping for answers. Peter gave him a tired smile as he pulled the chair up to the bed. The railings were down now that he was awake, and not at risk of falling, which had been a cause for concern during the previous days as his body had begun to wake up with frantic and uncontrolled movements.

“How are you doing, Neal?”

Neal scrunched his face and shrugged. “Tired.” His right hand jerked towards his stomach, where the hospital gown bulged and his left hand rested. “Hungry.”

Peter visibly winced.

What _had_ been explained to him, was that a month after his coma had persisted, they’d had to put in a feeding tube. While it had been a medical necessity for the long term, it didn't mean they had given up hope that he would wake up. It was only after four months and he had been off the ventilator for a month, that they finally faced reality and made the decision to move him to a long-term facility.

Neal nodded absently and fingered the fabric of his hospital gown. He wanted to ask what happened. His memories were fuzzy. The last thing he remembered was talking with Mozzie, but that didn't tell him much. Peter had been in jail, but obviously that had been cleared up.

“Peter…”

A nurse chose that time to come in and Peter looked relieved at the interruption. Neal frowned as the nurse started talking about more tests, and an orderly came in to take him somewhere. Peter hung back as they moved his bed and Neal closed his eyes in resignation. Answers would not be coming yet.

The following few days were long, filled with more tests, physical therapy and, slowly, Neal started to feel signs of being the man he was before the accident. He was able to stay awake for longer periods of time, though everything still took a lot out of him. His voice grew stronger and, while he still had to pause to gather his thoughts, he was starting to be able to hold full conversations.

After four days of avoiding the conversation, when Peter arrived in the morning, Neal finally addressed the elephant in the room. He knew his friend had been waiting for him to get stronger, but he couldn't wait any longer.

“What happened, Peter?” he asked the moment Peter sat down. “I need to know. You were in jail.”

Peter took a deep breath. “James put a hit on me.” Neal’s eyes widened. “It was supposed to take place at the courthouse at my hearing. Mozzie found out and the two of you came up with this harebrained scheme to save me and catch him all at once. You realized that James would still want to do it himself, but he would need me outside. So, some guys were hired to make an attempt inside, knowing you would intervene.”

He paused and chuckled. “When it happened, I had no idea what was going on. I thought it was all your doing—that it was an escape plan.” Neal smiled weakly. It did sound like him, but he knew that Peter wouldn’t like it, that he wanted his name cleared the right way. 

“I tried to stop you, but then you told me about the hit. Of course, not the part about James wanting me outside, but I guess you were afraid I wouldn’t go along with it. James was waiting outside at the loading dock when we got there, and put a gun to my head. You played along, got him talking. But the whole time, Mozzie was filming it.”

Peter stopped and looked away, and brushed a tear from his eye. “James wasn’t happy when you told him. He tried to shoot Mozzie, then turned back towards me. You pushed me out of the way and went after James. The two of you went down fighting and James shot you in the stomach. You went tumbling down the dock and fell off, hitting your head.” He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. 

His voice trembled when he looked back at Neal. “I will never forget that moment. Agents were everywhere, yelling, shouting, but all I heard was that _sound_ when you landed on the ground. I ran over to you and you were bleeding, and…and—”

Gasping, Peter stood up and turned around, unable to look Neal in the face. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, the tears flowing freely as he worked to calm himself. The room was silent, save for the sound of Peter’s ragged breathing.

“Peter…”

He shook his head. “I thought you were dead, Neal. Your eyes…”

“Look at me, Peter.”

“They took me away…”

“ _PETER!_ Look at me!” Neal called out as loudly as he could.

Finally turning around, Peter didn’t bother hiding his tears. He collapsed in the chair and buried his face in his hands, his elbows propped on his knees.

“I’m still here,” Neal said quietly. “Sure, I’m a little late, but you know I always appreciate making a good entrance.” 

Peter choked out a laugh and glanced back up, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. “You always had to do things your way.”

Neal grinned. “Coloring inside the lines is never fun anyway.”

Shaking his head, Peter laughed bitterly. “I’ve had enough of playing outside.”

Neal’s grin faded and his mouth tightened. “I’m sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have dragged you into the mess with my father. If I hadn’t…”

Peter pointed a finger at him. “No, don’t even go there. It was my choice. A choice I accepted a long time ago and have had to live with since. If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me. I was the agent— _I_ should have taken James down. You shouldn’t have been the one needing to save me.”

“I had to, Peter.”

Peter smiled softly and nodded. “I know.”

“So what happened to James?” Neal asked, changing the subject, knowing they couldn't get past their feelings of guilt in one day.

Settling back in his chair, Peter exhaled slowly. “He was shot twice, trying to run away. He died on the scene.”

Neal gave an almost imperceptible nod and looked down at his hands. “Good. Prison would have been too good for him.”

“Neal…”

He looked up at Peter and gave him a shaky smile. “It’s okay. He wasn’t my father.”

“I’m sorry.”

Neal shook his head. “I’m not. As long as you’re okay and free, that’s all that matters.”

“But it's not okay, Neal. It shouldn't have come to this. We should have been able to clean up the whole mess without you getting hurt or James dying.”

“Peter, what's done is done. You once told me to man up to my mistakes, right? Well, I am, and I regret them, but we can't do anything more but go on with life. I get that.”

Peter frowned and stared out the window, but said nothing.

Neal watched him silently, wondering if they could move on. His friend was still plagued with guilt and it didn't seem to matter that he was awake now. For three years, Peter had blamed himself, so it was going to take time for Neal to make him see things differently. Stubbornness aside, the agent had always felt responsible for him, and that wouldn’t change overnight.

“I don't suppose my sentence is up now, is it?” he asked, putting on an impish smile. “I know I was sleeping and all, but three years should count for something, right?”

Glancing back, Peter chuckled and nodded. “Yes, you are a free man, Neal. Technically you haven't had the anklet since that day. I think even the US Marshals realized you weren't going to run.”

“I'm good, but I'm not _that_ good. Faking a coma would be Oscar-worthy though.” Neal grinned. “Mozzie would be proud.”

Peter's face pinched in a grimace. “Yeah, he would.”

“How is he? I know Mozzie's deathly allergic to hospitals, but I figured I'd have heard from him by now, trying to rescue me from the government's clutches, claiming they're going to brainwash me or something now that I'm awake.”

“Um,” Peter hesitated and sighed loudly. “I don't know.” He ducked his head and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “He, uh, left New York a year after the accident.” Peter glanced back up and smiled sadly. “Said it was too hard to stick around watching and waiting for a miracle. I'm pretty sure he left an email address with Elizabeth and she's contacted him. But I'll bet he already heard the news. You know Moz...”

Neal swallowed hard and nodded absently. “Yeah, probably...” 

The nurse came in then and both men looked away, relieved at the interruption. The past was just that— the rest could wait for another day.

*~*~*~*

The next morning Peter brought in a container full of blueberry orange muffins that Elizabeth had baked the night before. They hadn't talked since the previous morning, since Neal had been too tired after physical therapy and had fallen asleep before Peter left for the day.

Peter knew they had to finish their conversation. He couldn't stall anymore.

“El wanted to come see you today, but she had an early meeting. She said she'll try to come tonight if you're still up to it.”

Neal gave him a small smile. “Sure, I'd like that.”

“Good, good...” Peter motioned to the muffins. “Want one? El baked them last night. I think she's going to try to make up for missing out on feeding you for three years.”

“Umm... maybe later. Thanks, though.” Neal shifted restlessly and tugged at his blanket. It was a sure sign to Peter that there was something he didn’t want to say. And it was pretty obvious.

Neal had never liked to ask for help, and now he found himself in a situation he couldn’t control, where he needed help to do just about everything. Peter understood how hard that was for him, and it wasn’t any easier for him to watch, but he wasn’t going to back down just because it made either of them uncomfortable.

“Are you sure? I can, you know...” Peter shrugged. “I don't mind, really.”

Without waiting for a response, he walked to the other side of the room and the pump of hand sanitizer that sat on the small counter with other medical supplies. He quickly cleaned his hands, then came back and plucked a muffin out of the container. In seconds, he had the colorful wrapper off and had broken off a small piece.

Neal eyed him warily. “Peter, you don't have to...”

Peter gave him a stern glare. “I want to—don't you dare feel embarrassed about this, Neal. I know it's going to take time to get back on your feet. We're going to be here for you, whether you like it or not.”

Sighing, Neal gave in and nodded. “Fine. Thank you.”

The doctors were weaning him off the formula he’d been on for the past three years, and Neal had been ecstatic when they’d let him have solid food. Not that anything they’d given him had been exciting, unfortunately. El had commiserated, and took it upon herself to bring him something better than bland hospital food. 

Peter also suspected she had an ulterior motive to fatten him up. Eyeing the unnatural sight of Neal’s thin frame, Peter knew it was a good idea.

He held out his hand, hovering near Neal’s mouth. After a couple fumbling attempts, he managed to find a rhythm and the appropriate bite size for Neal, and the muffin disappeared in a flash. But Neal still wouldn't look him in the eye as Peter brushed crumbs off his mouth with a napkin.

After throwing away the napkin, Peter sat down and awkwardly ran his hands down his thighs to grip his knees. There was still a lot to talk about, and the knot in his stomach would not go away until they got through it. _Cowboy up_ , he told himself.

“You know, you don't have to keep me company every day. I'm sure you're needed at the office,” Neal remarked casually, and brushed a crumb away with an air of nonchalance.

Only Peter knew better.

As painful as he knew it would be, Neal obviously wanted to finish their talk, but he wasn’t going to push Peter. His guilt still hung heavy in the air, and Neal was trying to let Peter get through it on his own terms, which Peter respected. However, it was going to be a long time before Peter could find peace with what had happened. 

Now, though, he had to think of Neal. 

“Oh, they're getting along fine without me,” he replied, leaning back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, I have plenty of work with me and I have my phone.” 

Peter smiled widely, but it felt forced and he couldn’t hold it. Sighing, he dropped his hands in his lap. “I'm in charge now—I have Hughes' old position.”

Neal blinked, and after a beat, grinned. “Congratulations! You deserve it. How long?”

“Three months.” Peter chuckled and shook his head. “I should have known things were going too smoothly and you'd wake up.”

“Awww, admit it Peter—you missed me. It's more fun with me around.”

Peter was ready to disagree, then rolled his eyes. “Okay, maybe.”

Neal beamed. “I bet your closure rate wasn't as good without me, either.”

“Modesty doesn't become you, Neal.”

He just shrugged, and the familiar Cheshire grin—that Peter wouldn't admit to missing—stretched across his face.

“So has Callaway been around all this time or was there enough dirt to get rid of her?”

Peter grimaced, remembering that bitter fight. “No, after how everything went down and the dirt Hughes dug up—she was connected to Pratt, by the way—Callaway pled out. She didn't get any time, but she no longer works for the government.”

Neal frowned. “I guess that's better than nothing.”

“Yeah, it all worked out for the best.... well, aside from—you know...” Peter trailed off and his eyes fell to the floor.

“Right...” Neal fell silent. 

Peter hadn’t been happy with the way it had turned out, but he hadn’t been in a position to do anything at the time. Hughes and his team had fought most of the battle, and Peter had just been happy that she didn’t win. She might not have been the one to shoot Neal, but that afternoon would not even have happened if it hadn’t been for her flagrant disregard.

“You were cleared, right? I mean, Moz's video helped?”

Peter glanced back up, and cleared his throat. “Yeah, it just took a few days. Worst days of my life, though. When they took me away at the courthouse, I thought you were dead. El stayed with you at the hospital, and Diana finally managed to come see me the next day to let me know your condition, which wasn't good; you'd been in surgery for over ten hours, and were still critical.”

He watched as Neal brought a shaky arm up to his head, and fingered the scars left behind. A piece of his skull had been cut out to relive the pressure on his brain. Dr. Sutton had given Neal a high-level overview of what had happened, which hadn’t been easy for Neal to hear, but it had been harder for Peter to relive.

“I barely saw the inside of my house for a week after I was released,” Peter continued. “El and I practically lived at the hospital. There was so much going on, between James, Callaway, and the huge fall-out because of what was found in the evidence box.”

Jones had kept him updated, but Peter was actually relieved that he didn’t have to deal with it. He hadn’t been allowed to touch the case, and that was fine with him. There were too many higher ups and people in positions of power affected, and going after them wasn’t easy or without risk. Peter had learned that the hard way.

In the end, most of it had been swept under the rug. A few people connected to Pratt became the fall guys, but by that point, Neal had been in the coma for months, and Peter’s anger had nowhere to go. The one person truly responsible was dead.

“But you got your badge back.”

Peter nodded. “I did. I was suspended for a while, but honestly, I didn't care. I wouldn't have left the hospital anyway.”

“You had to go back eventually,” Neal pointed out.

“I know, and I did—two months later. We were still hopeful you'd wake up at that point, but we all had to start moving on, getting back to normal.”

“It's okay, Peter. I understand,” he said softly.

Peter shook his head and slapped his hands on his legs. “Right. Anyway, life went on. We got a new guy to fill in after they booted Callaway. He was nearing retirement, so we knew it wouldn't be permanent. They just needed someone to come in and clean things up. I kept my head down and nose clean, and six months ago they asked me if I wanted the position.

“I figured it was the right time. Elizabeth had gone through enough over the years, she didn't need to worry about me anymore. Jones was promoted as well; he runs the team now.”

Neal smiled. “That's great. I'm happy for you, and Jones, too.”

“Thank you. It was good timing for Jones. He got married just over a year ago.” Peter’s face lit up. “They're expecting a baby in a few months.”

“Wow.” Neal's eyes widened. “A lot has happened.”

His stomach dropped and Peter hesitated. “Yeah, a lot has.”

“Diana?”

“She's in Boston, actually, with Christie. They got back together a couple of years ago. Then last year they moved to Boston after Christie accepted a position heading up the ER department.” Peter paused. “They got married a few months ago.”

On the surface, Neal was stoic, but Peter saw the pain in his eyes. It was telling, because he so rarely let anyone see how he truly felt. Only now, he wasn’t in control and that had to hurt even more.

“I guess I won't be planning her bachelorette party after all,” he said sadly.

“Actually, Diana didn't want one—said it didn't feel right.” Peter shrugged his shoulder lightly and offered him a small smile. “Maybe now would be a good time to throw one. I'm sure she'd appreciate it.”

Neal’s face was pulled tight, but he tried to smile. “Maybe...” He looked down at his hands and was quiet.

Peter felt a pang in his heart at the sight of the broken man in front of him. This was not the Neal Caffrey he knew. But how many times had life beaten him down? How many people had he loved and lost? While they had been the ones to grieve the past three years, now it was Neal’s turn, and this time it was going to be a long road to healing.

Taking a deep breath, Neal looked Peter in the eyes. “And Sara?”

Peter's face crumbled slightly. To Neal, it had only been a few weeks since she had left. Elizabeth had told him how Neal had barely spoken of Sara after Peter’s arrest. Neal had pushed aside his own pain to help Peter. He knew Neal had finally found something good with Sara at the end, but he had been selfless, letting her go.

Would they have found a way to make it work? Peter liked to think so.

“She's still in London. Busy as ever,” he said finally.

“Married?”

“Oh no,” Peter shook his head. “She says she's too busy for that.”

Neal nodded and relaxed just a bit. “Married to her work.”

“Yeah, yeah she is,” Peter agreed, letting out a nervous chuckle. “She visits, though.”

“Really?” Neal looked at him surprised.

Peter shifted in his seat. “New York, that is. She has meetings twice a year. Elizabeth and I meet up with her for dinner.”

“Oh, right.” Neal sighed and nodded slowly. “That's... nice of her.”

“She was here, after the accident.”

Neal eyes shot up and he gripped the blanket covering his lap. “She was?”

“Elizabeth called her, and she flew back that night. Stayed a few weeks, but...” Peter bit his lip. No one had known what to do back then. It had been difficult to go back to their lives, but they had no choice.

“She had a life, a job.” Neal smiled bitterly. “I get it, Peter, don't worry.”

Peter sighed. “I'm sorry, Neal. I mean it. I wish it all could have gone differently. I wish there had been some other way to get James... to clean up this mess, so that you didn't have to go through this.”

“But there wasn’t.”

Peter shook his head. “No, there wasn’t.”

*~*~*~*

“I'm so sorry I'm late,” Elizabeth apologized as she hurried into Neal's room that evening carrying several bags. “I had to go home and let Maggie out.”

She carefully set the bags down next to the chair along the wall and sat down with a big sigh. “How are you doing, Neal?” she asked with a bright smile on her face.

Neal frowned. “I'm good. Did you get another dog?”

Elizabeth glanced at Peter, a worried look in her eyes, and he shook his head. She nodded towards Neal and the two of them communicated silently, ending with a firm glare on Elizabeth’s part and a grimace by Peter. The silent by-play between the two would have been funny any other time, but not today. Neal knew whatever they had to say was not good.

She stood up and walked to his side while Peter took a deep breath. “Neal, Satchmo's gone. He died last year.”

He knew it shouldn't have hit him so hard, but Neal felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach. “What?”

“Oh, sweetie, he was sick, and we didn't want him to be in pain anymore. He was already twelve, he'd lived a long life.” Elizabeth squeezed his hand.

Peter leaned forward. “We got him just before I started chasing you. Can you believe it's been that long? If anyone told me back then that this was where we'd end up, I would have called them crazy.”

“Yeah... crazy,” Neal echoed softly. 

“Anyway, we got a new puppy—a black lab. She's so cute, you're going to love her.” Elizabeth beamed.

“Just please try not to corrupt her, Neal,” Peter cut in. “We're still training her.”

“Why would I corrupt your dog, Peter?”

Peter gave him a look. “You think I don't know that you had Satchmo doing whatever you wanted?”

Neal playfully shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “Who, me?”

“Well, you can meet her later. Right now, I brought you stuff to keep you entertained.” Elizabeth turned back around and started emptying the bags she'd brought in. “I know you must be bored. We have cards, board games, and some new books that I'd thought you'd like. I also have a laptop and DVDs for you. A couple new shows came out that I think you'll love. Plus, I figure you'll want to catch up on news and such.”

“Thanks, Elizabeth. That's great.” Neal smiled honestly, momentarily feeling the weight of everything disappear. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth paused in her efforts to arrange everything on the table and glanced over her shoulder. “I just remembered how restless Peter gets when he's laid up, and I figured you'd be the same.”

Peter stood up and stretched his arms. “So, how about a game of Clue, Neal? See if that mind of yours is still sharp.”

“Clue, Peter—really?” Neal raised an eyebrow. “Isn't that a little clichéd? Don't you get enough of it at work?”

“I'll have you know this was my favorite game as a kid.”

“Now that's a surprise,” he replied dryly.

“Oh, be quiet.” Peter unearthed the game from the stack and walked back to the bed. He laid the box on Neal’s lap and started to set it up on the over-bed table. “Who do you want to be? Mr. Green or Professor Plum?”

“What, I can't be Colonel Mustard?”

Peter shuffled the cards and shrugged. “I figured with your background, you'd want to be Mr. Green since he was a crook and a playboy, or the Professor. After all, you did pose as a teacher before.” 

“You do realize that Green is a Reverend in the original UK version, right?” Neal asked, giving him a pointed look.

Peter rolled his eyes, and sighed in exasperation. Elizabeth giggled and pulled her chair closer to the bed. “Well, I want to be Mrs. Peacock.”


	3. Part Two

“I know you missed me, but the people in the office are going to start talking. I don't need a babysitter. Your wife did bring me plenty of entertainment,” Neal remarked as a nurse pushed his wheelchair back into his room.

Peter, like every day before, was sitting with a pile of files in his lap and his laptop next to him on the small table the nurses had brought in. He glanced up and grinned. “But then I wouldn't get to see your shining face.”

Neal's laugh turned into a grunt as he was helped up on his bed. “You need a life.”

“Nah... I like the one I have.”

Rolling his eyes, Neal glanced up and frowned. “What are those?”

Peter twisted and looked over his shoulder. “The drawings?” He grinned. “You complained that the walls needed art. I got you art.”

“They look like they were drawn by a two-year-old,” Neal said dryly.

“That's because they were. I thought they were pretty good.” He pulled one down and passed it over to Neal.

He grabbed the paper and raised an eyebrow. “Where did you get them? You didn't have a kid while I was asleep, did you?”

Peter coughed and shook his head. “What? No. One of the nurses gave them to me.”

“Oh.” Neal looked down at the drawing, and was actually surprised that it wasn't just a stick figure drawn in crayon. The pencil drawing was of the New York skyline, although without too much detail. It was, after all, done by a two-year-old, but it was better than he had expected. “Hey, this isn't half bad.”

“I know, right? I thought they would cheer up the place.”

Peter closed his files and tossed them on the table, then stood up and stretched, popping his neck. He walked around the table towards the stack of games, books and DVDs.

“So how about another game of Clue?”

Neal groaned and dropped his head back on his pillow.

*~*~*~*

It was a bit surreal to just read about so much that he'd slept through. He had sifted through the big stuff—the new president (now, that was a shock), Britain was leaving the EU, the Cubs finally won a World Series—but had been devastated to find that a Romanian woman had burned several paintings including a Matisse, Picasso and a Monet. And people thought his past transgressions were bad!

“You, my friend, look like you need a drink.”

Neal tore his eyes away from his laptop. Mozzie stood in the doorway, carefully taking in Neal's appearance, and hesitated a second before walking in the room. He looked the same to Neal, with maybe just a little less hair, if that was possible.

“Sorry for the late arrival. I had to drive from Idaho.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “You drove all the way from Idaho?”

Mozzie settled in the chair closest to the bed. It had been vacated by Peter when he'd gone home for the evening. It didn't surprise Neal that his friend would appear at night, having probably slipped by the nursing staff. 

“No, Portland, actually.”

“Ahh, of course.” Neal nodded and smiled, feeling that familiar tug of the odd and unexplainable when it came to Mozzie’s eccentricities.

“Although, Coeur d'Alene is quite beautiful. Too bad you have to drive to Spokane for a real airport.”

“You just drove across the country, why would that matter?”

Acknowledging him with a tilt of the head, Mozzie replied, “One must always be prepared for an unexpected exit.”

“And yet, you still chose to drive to New York.” 

Mozzie sighed rather dramatically. “Oh, come on, Neal, you know I don't like to fly. _Some_ of us prefer to keep off the government's radar.”

“I know you have other IDs— _Bob_.” Neal looked at him pointedly. As far as he was aware, their matured aliases had not been compromised when he’d fled New York. They had settled in Cape Verde with new names.

“That's for emergencies.”

Neal rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to remember who he was dealing with. “It's not like I wake up every day from a three-year coma.”

“Look, I'm here,” Mozzie retorted, and pointed at him, “and you're still awake, aren't you?”

“I feel so loved,” Neal replied dryly. “You know, Peter was here when I woke up.”

Mozzie sniffed and held his head up high. “That's because the Suit feels responsible.”

Neal couldn't argue that since they'd been playing the blame game the past few days and avoiding the subject. He also knew that he probably shouldn't push Mozzie on it anymore, either.

“So... Portland?”

Mozzie scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “As if. I just happened to be there for some business when I got the email from Elizabeth. I had to procure a car and switch it out in Chicago.”

Neal was afraid to ask, but he went for it anyway. “What's wrong with Portland?”

And he really shouldn't have, judging by Mozzie's reaction. 

“What isn't? I'm all for freedom from government interference, but the liberals out there are too much for my tastes. It’s one thing to protest cars and fossil fuel dependence, but do they really have to ride a bicycle nude through the city?” Mozzie shuddered. “Or what about the Urban Iditarod? It’s just an excuse to run around drinking, dressed like lunatics. There aren’t even dogs involved. They use shopping carts, for crying out loud! It’s disrespectful of the real Iditarod.” He shook his head firmly. “No, they’re a bit too hippy for me.”

Neal stared at him in disbelief, and Mozzie shifted in his seat, then sighed. “Fine, it rains too much, happy?”

Grinning, Neal chuckled. “So what have you been up to, then? I heard you left New York.”

“I acquired a vineyard in northern California, near the small town of Boonville.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled. “There's a certain charm about the quiet life. No one around to bother you, and very few tourists.”

“And I'm guessing having your own stock of wine doesn't hurt?”

Mozzie smirked. “It _is_ a nice perk, but I’ll have you know I enjoy working out the subtle complexities of soil chemistry to produce the best grape. Or in the end, carefully blending the right batches to make the perfect wine. It’s truly a science _and_ an art.”

“I have to say, not too surprised by your choice of business venture,” Neal paused and cocked his head, “but I can't picture you paying taxes.”

“The vineyard does— _I_ do not.”

Neal choked back a laugh. “I'm not sure the IRS will appreciate the semantics.”

Mozzie shot him a withering glare.

Neal held his hands up. “Okay, sorry, forget I even mentioned it.”

Mozzie nodded and relaxed in his seat. “So... you look good. How are you, really?”

“You mean, is my brain scrambled?” Neal raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. “No, I'm fine. I passed all my cognitive function tests. It's the rest of me that's still trying to catch up. One week of physical therapy and this is all I've accomplished.” He lifted his right arm and tried to flex his hand. Only two of his fingers curled in an inch.

“The physical will come in time. It’s what is in here,” Mozzie knocked his own head, “that counts.”

“I’m sure you’d say the same thing if you were in my position, right?” Neal replied wryly.

Mozzie cringed. “Okay, probably not.” He pulled off his glasses, and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “But the mind is everything, and what you think, you become.”

“Sure thing, Buddha, I’ll get right on that.” Neal sighed and glanced over at the marker board that outlined his daily schedule. “My mind is about all I have right now, although I can’t remember everything, so I don’t even have that really.”

“What?!” Mozzie sat up straight and his eyes widened. “I thought you said you were okay. How much are we talking about?”

“Relax. The doctors say it’s normal. It’s just the last few days that I don’t remember.”

“That you know of!!” he sputtered. “What did the Suit tell you? Don’t let them fill your head with their lies and propaganda.”

Neal had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Moz, really?” He shook his head. “It’s probably better this way. I’m not too sure I want to remember the accident.”

Mozzie’s face fell and he hesitated. “It wasn’t pretty, mon frère. I got it all on video, but I don’t think any of us have watched it.”

Neal was pretty sure he didn’t want to see it, either, no matter the gap in his memory. He smiled weakly and shrugged. “Anyway, I can't feed myself, it takes a lifetime to type anything, and don't even get me started on going to the bathroom.”

Sitting back in the chair, Mozzie cleared his throat and nodded at him. “You'll be back to normal in no time. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“I appreciate your optimism, Moz, but this time it's not going to be that easy. They're sending me to a rehab facility in a week, hopefully. It'll probably take a few months, if I'm lucky.”

“It's still on the government's dime, right?”

Neal frowned. “As far as I know. I'm pretty sure Peter won't let them just kick me to the curb, Moz.”

Mozzie shook his head and pointed a finger at him. “You never know, your time with them is up, they might argue that you're on your own now.”

“Even if that does happen, which I doubt, I'm sure we can find enough resources to pay for it, right?”

Mozzie hedged. “Possibly. I might have relocated some of our belongings from the island after you left.”

“Hopefully it won't come to that. I’d rather not have to explain it to Peter, if we don’t have to. He’s gone through enough, he shouldn’t have to worry about keeping me out of jail now,” he replied ruefully. “Although, knowing him, he'd try to help pay if that’s the case, which isn’t right.”

“Why not?” Mozzie’s voice was shrill. “It’s because of him that you’re even in this situation!”

“Moz, it’s _because_ of my father and the mess _I_ brought him into that he was even arrested.”

“Hmmpph.” He crossed his arms. “Well, it’s the least he could do after all you’ve been through—to say nothing of what the FBI put you through.”

Neal sighed. “Moz, I made my own bed. Just because Peter’s the one who caught me—”

“You practically gave yourself up!” Mozzie’s eyes flared. “It was a trap and you knew it.”

“Fine, but we’re _not_ blaming Peter for any of it,” Neal stressed. “And I’m not going to allow him to pay for any of my hospital bills because it was my mess to begin with.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Neal, and you know it. Your soft spot for the Suit is what got you three years in a different prison.”

Neal glared at him.

Sighing, Mozzie waved his hand. “Okay, okay. If the feds won’t pay, I’ll put up a fight. But they’re probably happy you’re awake so they can get you off the books anyway. It’s cheaper than paying for you to sleep away the next fifty years.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m sad not to have to wear the anklet anymore.”

Mozzie gave him a slight nod. “As you should.”

“It’s going to be weird though, not having to go into the FBI office. It feels like I was just there, working on a case.” Neal frowned. “A mortgage fraud. I guess I don’t have to worry about finishing that one.”

“No, Neal, it’s fantastic! No more leash, no more having to bend to their short-sighted rules and conform to their idealistic view of societal norms.”

“Well, I would have appreciated having more time to figure out what to do with my life before suddenly finding myself footloose and fancy-free,” Neal replied.

“Are you kidding me?” Moz’s eyes lit up. “This is perfect! Everyone thinks you’re dead. We have to take advantage of that—there are so many places I’ve wanted to go. No one would even _think_ you’re behind any of it. Where should we hit first? The Louvre? Or maybe-” 

“Moz, no,” he interrupted.

“What?” Mozzie stopped and looked at him confused. “Your indentured servitude is up.” He spread his arms out wide with a flourish. “The world is your oyster again.” 

Neal smiled sadly. “I know, but right now I need to wrap my head around that. I _liked_ working with Peter.”

“I’m going to chalk that up to your head injury,” Mozzie grumbled, then sighed and shook his head. “Neal, he’s a fed. You helped his closure rate. He used you like you were in a tool in his belt, just like everyone else. Maybe it’s nostalgia, remembering the highs, but you need to also remember the lows. Need I remind you that you were shot at—more than once.”

“That wasn’t Peter’s fault,” he argued.

“Maybe not directly, but you have to remember he _is_ FBI and was responsible for you,” Mozzie reminded him with a pointed look. “Plus, you can’t deny he has trust issues. That will never go away. Besides, he sits behind a desk now. Do you think Elizabeth wants to start worrying all over again?”

Neal remained silent. Everything was different now, and he felt like he had walked into another universe. It was unnerving, seeing as he usually tried to stay in control, and now he was powerless and adrift.

“Mark my words, if you go back, nothing is going to change,” Mozzie declared and crossed his arms over his chest once more with a firm nod. “He’ll continue to use you to go into the grey areas he refuses to acknowledge, and he’ll always be looking over your shoulder. It’s like catnip, he can’t resist, and like it or not, you’ll always be the ex-con. If anything goes wrong, he or someone else will try to pin it on you.”

He waved at the stack of games on the table. “Like Clue, which I’m hardly surprised is here, he’s always looking at things in black and white.”

Neal shifted uncomfortably.

“That game is awful, by the way,” Mozzie complained, and his voice rose. “All it does is teach children to point the finger, and come to ridiculous conclusions. I bet the Suit loves that.” He shook his head. In real life, you must think,” he opened his hands wide, “ _outside_ the box.”

“Moz, I get it, but really? It’s a game. One, I would bet, you secretly love to play, and win handily,” he remarked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the all-too-painful topic of Peter’s wavering trust in him.

“It’s all process of elimination and a bit of guesswork! Not to mention, it uses the logic that what is missing _is_ the proof of guilt, and that’s just wrong. If that’s the case, then let’s just lock everyone up!” Mozzie exclaimed and shook his head, disgusted. “It takes no talent, no skill at reading between the lines, and whether someone is lying or telling the truth.”

A smile stretched across Neal’s face. “You try to cheat at Clue, don’t you?”

“It’s not cheating if you steer them to the right answer, and let them think they’re keeping it from you.”

“Right…” He chuckled. “So do you want to play or not? I have a lot of time to kill these days. Although, really, I’ve had enough Clue. I’m sure there’s another game that won’t upset you.”

Mozzie eyed the stack of games like he was being put upon. If it wasn’t something that he liked to do, or had knowledge of how to get around something (or literally cheat), it wasn’t his thing. Chess was probably the only game he played by the rules because he respected the logic and strategy involved.

“Unless you just want to sit and stare at me,” Neal countered, lightly. “I’m afraid I can’t do much else.”

“Okay, fine, backgammon,” Mozzie acquiesced. “I'll even let you be white.”

Neal’s eyes dimmed as Mozzie turned to the stack of games. He felt like the middle child, torn between two siblings. Was he white or black? He wasn’t a good guy, but quite honestly, he didn’t feel like he was a bad guy, either.

What did that mean for his future? Who _was_ he now?

*~*~*~*

“You can do it… just one more.”

Neal grunted lightly as he tried to pull his fingers apart, the thick rubber band providing resistance to his efforts. Because his muscles had atrophied, the simple movement was a struggle. It was just one more thing that he had taken for granted, for which he now had no control over.

After the last repetition, he laid his hand down on his lap and Eric, his physical therapist, pulled off the rubber band and moved it to the next set of fingers. Neal sighed and picked up his hand and started it all over again.

“ _Damn_. I had thought Gibson would be on our side with the warrant.”

Neal glanced up at Peter’s voice and observed the agent pacing just inside the doorway on his cell phone. One hand rested on his hip as his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Okay, we need more evidence. Jones, get everyone you can working on it. Comb through every person that Tony has come into contact with—there has to be someone who will talk.” He paused and frowned as he listened to Jones on the other end. “Yes, but that’s too risky. We hold off on going in for now.”

“Hey there, we’re almost done.” Eric snapped his fingers in Neal’s face. “Don’t space out of me now.”

Neal shook his head and focused back on the exercise, but couldn’t help listening in on Peter’s conversation.

“If you can come up with another way in that doesn’t involve bluffing in a room full of Sardinian mobsters, I’m all ears.” Peter rolled his eyes a moment later. “Sicilian, Sardinian, whatever.”

Neal’s eyes widened. They were going after the mob?! Even he’d never been crazy enough to tangle with them.

“He’s an angry Italian with an itchy trigger finger—he might as well be in the mob. I bet he’d love that.” Peter paused and laughed. “Right. So, if we go in, we do it carefully, with _extreme_ finesse.” He scoffed. “Sure, you’re Mr. Charm, all right. You’ll have to come up with a good ‘in’ and I don’t think your love of Italian food counts.” 

Neal smirked, but was relieved to hear they weren’t going after the mob. He wondered who this Tony was, and what he had his hand in, for White Collar to be looking into him. Mozzie had always made sure to know the players in New York, but Neal had preferred to stay away from the thugs and mobster wannabes.

He could probably scrounge up a fence that might know something, if it was goods that Tony dealt with. Besides, they tended to know everything and everyone. 

“ ** _Neal_.** ”

He jerked his head away and glanced at Eric, who stood to his right, his arms crossed over his chest, looking impatient. “Sorry.”

“I know this isn’t exciting, but you have to focus, Neal. You’re not going to get any stronger if you don’t work hard at it. Now, let’s do this last set again, and then you’re done.”

Neal spread his fingers and held them open, trembling, as Eric counted down from ten. Then he closed them and took a deep breath before doing it once more, all the while trying to keep an ear out to Peter’s call.

“We need to make up a complete profile of him. I want to know everything about him, his likes, dislikes...” Peter stopped his pacing and shook his head. “Very funny. I’m happily married, thank you very much. But seriously, the better we know him, the better we can send someone in that won’t scare him off.”

Eric pulled the rubber band off and handed him a soft ball in its place. Neal sighed and, without having to be told, started curling his fingers around the ball.

“Are you sure? That’s good, real good. We can definitely work with that. Roll with it.” Peter nodded to himself. “Right, just keep me updated. Good work, Jones. I’ll talk to you later.”

Peter slid his phone in his pocket and walked over. “Hey, sorry about that. How’s it going over here? Neal’s not giving you any trouble, is he? He tends to get bored easily.”

Eric looked up and shared a smile with Peter. “I’ve noticed. But he’s doing better. We just have to shake things up here and there.”

Neal rolled his eyes and switched the ball to his other hand. “And I’m right here, thank you.” He glanced over at Peter. “So what’s going on at the office? Who’s Tony?”

Peter sat down in his chair and leaned back with a long sigh. “Oh, we didn’t get a warrant we were expecting, so now we’re back to the drawing board.”

“Need any help?” Neal asked, itching to do something useful while he was stuck laying around in bed all day. He might have missed out on three years, but he still knew the business. Thinking outside the box was what he was good at.

Peter waved a hand. “Oh, we’re good now. Jones has an idea on how to get on his crew. We got it covered.”

Neal blinked, and felt a knot form in his stomach.

“Okay, we’re done for the day.” Eric clapped a hand on Neal’s shoulder and smiled brightly. “You’re doing great Neal, don’t get discouraged.”

Neal nodded numbly and looked to Peter, who was back on his feet and digging through the games on the table.

“Ooh, this one is a classic!”

*~*~*~*

Lucy went about her morning routine, checking on Neal’s vitals, chit-chatting while she recorded everything. Then she moved the bed up, leaving Neal in a seated position.

“Last day!” She smiled brightly as she set up the formula on the IV stand for his morning feeding. “Your numbers are looking good. We’ll watch you carefully for the next week to see if you can keep your weight stable before we remove the tube completely.”

Neal returned the smile weakly. He felt like a child, or worse, a baby, but he knew it was only temporary. Eating completely on his own was a big step, only he just wished he could feed himself.

“Peter called,” she said as she flushed his tube with a syringe full of water. “He can’t come in this morning, but he said he would try to visit during lunch.”

He felt a pang in his chest, and frowned. It shouldn't matter, he’d told Peter that he didn’t need a babysitter. However, Peter had been a constant presence for the past week, and lying here by himself, he could only dwell on what had changed and everything that he couldn’t do anymore.

But he had to get used to it. Peter had his own life. They all did. He couldn’t expect that to change.

*~*~*~*

“C-3.”

“Miss,” Jones said, and Peter leaned over to put a white peg in Neal’s board. “Her name is Jessica.”

“She’s Jessica Jones?” Neal grinned. “As in—”

Pulling a face, Jones shook his head. “Don’t go there. She’s tired of it already.”

Neal chuckled. “How did the two of you meet?”

Jones coughed, prompting Peter to laugh. Grinning, Peter leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, visibly amused by the situation.

Glancing between the two, Neal frowned. “Okay, what’s so funny? Tell me.”

“I, uh, met her during a case,” Jones admitted, running a hand over the back of his neck and shrugging sheepishly. Focusing back on his board, and obviously wanting to gloss over what had to be a story, he called out, “H-9.”

“Miss,” Neal replied after a quick glance at his board. “Please tell me you didn’t stalk her, too?”

“I didn’t stalk Elizabeth!”

Neal shot him a pointed look that clearly said he didn’t believe him. “Perhaps you should look up the definition one day.”

“There’s a difference between stalking and running surveillance,” Peter protested.

“I beg to differ.”

“Anyway,” Jones interrupted, “I was watching her coworker. It just so happened that-”

“That you _watched_ her, too?” Neal grinned.

Jones smirked. “I couldn’t help it. Part of the job.”

Neal shook his head. “I can’t believe you two are married. Why they gave you a shot is beyond me. You do realize that you’re supposed to _talk_ to them? You know, find out what they’re like during conversation—not by surveillance.”

“We can't all be charming and do hat tricks,” Peter replied wryly.

“Speak for yourself, I'm plenty charming,” Jones replied smugly. “Unlike you, _I_ know how to flirt.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and turned to Neal, nodding towards the game. “Are you going to play or not?”

Neal studied his gameboard for a moment, then glanced up at Jones. “Thank you for bringing Battleship, by the way. I was getting a little tired of Clue. Agent Burke, over here, can’t leave work at the office it seems. And let me tell you, two-player is not a challenge and gets old quickly.”

“Heh, no problem. I’ll bring in the iPad next time, so we can leave him at the office.”

He shared a grin with Jones, while Peter let out a long-suffering sigh. Neal bit his tongue to keep from laughing and studied the board again.

“C-2,” he finally called out.

“Dang it, hit—destroyer.”

Peter made a noise, pointing to the next likely spot, and Neal waved him off. “I know, I can see that myself, thank you. B-2.”

Jones grumbled again. “Sunk.”

Neal grinned and Peter put up his hand to high five. He raised his arm, but it was a rather pathetic and soft slap when they connected, and his smile faltered as he dropped his arm back to his side.

Swallowing reflexively, he watched as Peter started to rib the former Navy man, with a growing sense of detachment. Jones returned fire with ease, and the two joked back and forth while he sat back feeling like the odd man out.

“Miss!” Peter crowed with glee, clapping his hands. “Oh-hoo!! So much for the Navy. You know, it’s a good thing Tony needs a driver and not someone to pilot a boat!”

“No, it’s a good thing _I_ know how to drive, unlike some other people,” Jones parried.

Peter rolled his eyes and huffed. “Well, as long as you’re not good _enough_. We need to catch you.”

“Hey, I know what I’m doing!”

Neal saw the glint in Peter’s eyes, the excitement building in the man as they discussed how to take down their latest suspect. It was a familiar scene, one Neal had grown to love, even when it meant days of tedious research. They were a team, and when the cards were down, they got it done. 

But as Peter and Jones continued to talk, he felt his heart clench. The dynamic had changed, he realized sadly. They were used to his absence and had moved on without him. He was no longer part of the team.

He was no longer needed.

*~*~*~*

“No.” Neal turned his head and narrowly avoided the spoon full of oatmeal.

Lucy showed no sign of frustration at Neal’s refusal, calmly setting the bowl of oatmeal down on the table. Peter had to commend her, knowing how difficult it was dealing with Neal, even at the best of times. However, he knew that working at such a facility had to require a tremendous amount of patience, and she was probably used to patients like Neal.

If this morning was any indication, they were in for a long day.

“How about more of the shake?” She picked up the vanilla protein shake that had become a staple of Neal’s diet.

He shook his head and his arm jerked, pushing the table away from him. “I’m full.”

“Just a few more sips? You need the energy for physical therapy later.”

“I’m full,” he repeated, agitated.

Lucy nodded and set the drink down. “Okay. I’m going to leave it here for when you do get hungry.” She turned to leave, giving Peter a small smile.

Peter smiled back, but it was strained. He wished Neal wasn’t acting like this, but there wasn’t much Lucy or he could do about it. Forcing him would not go over well, and he knew Neal just acted out more if you made him do something he didn’t want to do.

The door closed quietly behind Lucy, and he glanced back at Neal with a sigh.

“What’s going on, Neal?” Peter leaned forward. “You’ve been acting surly all morning.”

In fact, Peter realized, Neal had been quiet when he and Jones had left yesterday. But he had smiled and joked around earlier, so it didn’t make any sense. The doctors had warned them that Neal’s moods and behavior might change erratically, given his head injury. However, no two head injuries were alike, and Neal was doing quite well compared to most.

There were moments when Neal spaced out, or said the wrong thing, but they were few and far between. Neal was lucky. So very lucky, Peter knew, having read about people who had come out of a coma needing to relearn the simplest of things. Neal, for the most part, just had to regain physical control over his body again. It was going to take time, and that was probably hard for Neal to accept. 

He was not the most patient person, except maybe when it came to a long con, Peter thought wryly.

“I know this is hard, Neal, but Lucy is right. You need to eat if you want to get out of here. Heck, if you want to get rid of that feeding tube, which I know you do, you’re going to have to eat runny oatmeal and whatever else they give you. It may not be gourmet, but it’s better than being fed through a tube, right?”

Neal just stared off into the distance and said nothing.

Peter shook his head and sighed once more. “It will get better, Neal, I promise.”

Turning to face him, Neal looked at him, eyes wide and incredulous. “Really, Peter? And how do you know that?”

“It’s only been a week. You can’t expect to just bounce out of bed,” Peter argued, feeling exasperated, then took a deep, measured breath and tried to control himself. He couldn’t get upset now. Neal didn’t react well when pressured or felt that everyone was ganging up on him. He had to remain calm. “It’s just going to take time and a lot of effort. I know you—you’re stubborn and determined, and work hard at whatever you set your mind to. You _will_ get through this.”

Neal huffed and shook his head. “That might not mean anything, anymore. Who says I’m going to get better?” 

“I do. Because the Neal Caffrey I know, doesn’t give up,” Peter countered, and pressed on. “You passed all your cognitive tests, Neal. That shows that you _aren’t_ brain damaged. The rest is just physical.”

“Peter, I might remember my name and how to do basic arithmetic, but I still have a head injury. I know what that means. I passed all kinds of tests after I was injured, but I still fell into a coma and they never figured out why. Tests aren’t everything.”

Standing up, Peter gritted his teeth and crossed the space between them. “Maybe not, but then you need to show them that. The harder you work, the stronger you get, and this will all be a distant memory.”

Neal drew in a ragged breath, and his hands clutched the blanket with a weak grip. He looked up at Peter with red, glistening eyes. “And what do I have to look forward to?”

Peter stared at him in shock, and it suddenly all made sense. His heart ached at the sight of a man he once knew to be cocky and strong, now so small and vulnerable.

“You'll figure it out, Neal,” he said softly, and laid a hand over Neal’s. “There's a life out there for you, trust me.”

*~*~*~*

When Neal woke up, he knew there was someone in the room with him. The lights were dimmed, but there was still plenty of daylight pouring through the window, and he could hear the turn of a page. It wasn’t Peter, he knew. Work had beckoned him after lunch. Jones had gotten the call to meet up with Tony.

While Peter had been reluctant to leave, in the end Neal had been the one to assure him he would be okay by himself.

It wasn’t a surprise that someone was here now, though. Peter would have sent Elizabeth. Neal appreciated their company and the time they took out of their day to be with him, but knowing he wasn’t a _part_ of their lives anymore, hurt more than their absence. Were they only there because they felt obligated?

He kept his eyes closed and breathed softly, not ready to face Elizabeth just yet.

Neal didn’t know what to do. He needed, _wanted_ , them there, but how could he make them stay when they had clearly moved on? He couldn’t blame them. It wasn’t their fault that he no longer had a place in their lives.

But there was no way to go back, only forward, and he couldn’t take that out on Elizabeth.

Opening his eyes, he slowly focused on the figure before him, and a smile blossomed across his face.

“June.”

She looked up from her novel, and her eyes lit up. “Neal!” Setting the book down on the seat next to her, she smiled warmly at him. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“I’d say the same, but it feels like it’s only been a couple weeks,” he joked lightly.

June chuckled and shook her head. “I’m sorry it took me so long to visit. I was out of town.”

“It’s fine, I understand,” he replied, shifting and trying to sit up. June stood up, and reached for the controls that would move his bed up.

“I was visiting my sister. She had her knee replaced, and wanted my help,” she continued, and her eyes twinkled. “Or, at least, the help of my cook!”

They both laughed, and she squeezed his hand. “I was so happy to hear from Elizabeth. We’ve all missed you so much. It hasn’t been the same without you!”

“The Earth kept on spinning, though,” he replied and tried not to sound bitter.

“It did,” she agreed, with a short nod. “But it wasn’t anywhere as fun as it used to be.”

“I’m sure you made up for it with more time with your family. How’s Samantha?” he asked, steering the conversation away with a smile.

June didn’t so much as blink with the change of topic and beamed. “Samantha’s doing well. She still loves soccer. In fact, her team went to the playoffs last year! She was very sad to hear about your accident. Cindy, too. You were missed more than you realize.”

A wave of heartache rose in his chest and he tried to push it down. He was happy to see her, truly, and didn’t want to plague her with his doubts.

Perhaps picking up on his mood, she kept going with a bright smile. “Cindy is doing well, too. She had her first show last fall. It went over extremely well, and I couldn’t be more proud of her. You know as well as I do, that the art world is a fickle place. But she’s strong and didn’t give up.”

He felt a pang at the mention of art, and wondered if he would ever paint again. His forgery days were long over. “That’s great.” He forced a smile. “I’m happy for her.”

She patted his arm. “And you would do well to do the same. I know you’re hurting, but I believe in you, Neal. I want to put an original Caffrey up on my wall one day.”

His face fell. “It might be a while, June,” he replied sadly.

“You take all the time in the world, young man.” She leaned in to peck him on the cheek, and hugged him tight. “We’re just happy to have you back.”


	4. Part Three

Her heels clicked loudly in the quiet of the early morning. She passed by the nurses’ station without stopping and made the familiar route to Neal’s room. Sara lingered in the doorway, heart beating wildly as her eyes slowly moved over the silent form lying in the hospital bed just a few feet away. If Peter hadn't called her, she might not have believed it. The lights were dimmed and he slept peacefully, like every other time she had visited.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped towards the bed, which she now noticed was upright, and Neal's hair was tousled, unlike the carefully groomed appearance the nurses had maintained the last three years. He also wore a T-shirt, another noticeable improvement over the institutional hospital gown. But otherwise, he looked the same, and for some reason that pained her. Three years had gone by and everyone had moved on but him.

Of all people, she would have expected him to be flying around the world right now, living high and testing his limits. Instead, he'd been stuck here, in limbo, missing out on life. It had been hard to accept that he wouldn't wake up, even after the doctors been honest about his chances. She'd still held out hope, but as the years went by, she had begun to doubt it as well.

She looked around the room and took in the stack of games, books, and DVDs on the table in the corner, and various containers full of snacks, most likely left by Elizabeth. The drawings on the wall made her smile. Sara had often thought that Neal would complain that his room was boring, but when you were in a coma, they tended not to decorate the room much. Not even for the visiting family and friends.

Taking the seat next to his bed, she reached for his hand.

“Oh, Neal... I've missed you. It hasn't been the same without you.” She stopped and brushed away a tear. “I never got to send you those postcards. I wrote them, but I...” Her lip quivered as she thought of the stack she’d hidden away.

“I was waiting for them.”

Sara gasped as Neal's eyes opened and she felt a soft pressure on her hand.

“Neal!”

He smiled softly. “Hey, Repo. Did you write me a poem?”

She covered her mouth and laughed. Tears trickled down her face as she saw his blue eyes for the first time in over three years. It almost felt like no time had passed at all, it was so familiar—his smile, the sparkle in his eye, and his consistent ability to surprise her.

“There may have been one or two, although I won't claim to them being any good.”

Neal shrugged. “It doesn't matter. It's the thought.”

“I, um… I'm sorry I didn't come sooner,” she apologized, with a weak smile. “It was a little hard to just get up and leave on a moment's notice.”

“It's fine, I understand.” He squeezed her hand. “I'm happy you're here now. I know it hasn't been as long for me, but I missed you.”

Sara took a shuddering breath. “I missed you too, Caffrey. You have no idea how much.” She wiped another tear away, but realized it was fruitless. She was going to be a sobbing mess by the time it was all over. “I know I should have at least called you, but I wanted to do this in person.”

“Hey, it's okay, really. I was sleeping a lot,” he replied with a small shrug of his shoulder and a slight smile.

“That's what Peter told me. As if you hadn't slept enough the last three years,” she joked and watched as his face fell.

“You talked to Peter?”

Sara was taken aback. “Yes, he didn't say anything? I thought he would have told you that I was coming.”

Neal shook his head. “Nothing. He was kinda tight lipped about you, now that I think about it. I only got the basics—you're still in London, working hard as usual. And that you have meetings here twice a year, when you meet up with him and Elizabeth for dinner.”

“Right...” Sara bit her lip. Where did she start? “Peter and I talk a few times a month. He's been... helpful—a friend, really. Both of them, actually, Peter and Elizabeth. They've come out to London a couple times, too.”

The surprise on his face was obvious.

“That's...” He struggled to gather his thoughts. “I'm glad they were there for you. I’m sure it was a rough time.”

Sara closed her eyes, and tried to steady her breathing. For so long she had waited for this moment, and now that it was here, she was more nervous than she’d anticipated. This was supposed to be a happy day; however, now she had to relive the past. Not a day had gone by that she hadn’t thought of Neal, but she had pushed the most painful memories away.

“It was one of the worst days of my life, Neal,” she started with a shaky voice. Unconsciously, she gripped his hand tighter, remembering that fateful day. “I was surprised to hear from Elizabeth, and for a second I thought maybe she was calling to say you'd been arrested. But when she told me you'd been shot...”

Sara shook her head and tried to remind herself that it didn't matter now, Neal was right in front of her. 

“She didn't know many details, only that you'd been taken into surgery. I was on the next flight out, and met up with Elizabeth in the ICU. That’s when I found out about your head injury. Everything that happened next is a blur, really.” 

She took a deep breath.

“I was so scared, Neal. I've lost people I've loved before, but this…” she trailed off, remembering the fear that had gripped her. “I didn't know how to handle it. When my sister ran away, I was young, and I could still hope that she was out there, alive and happy. My parents died suddenly and I had no time to prepare or even worry whether or not they would make it. It was hard—really hard—but I was older and I had to move on.”

Neal looked up with clouded eyes, and she took comfort in the presence of his hand in hers. They were just memories now. Painful and heartbreaking, but only memories.

“But this time... I was a wreck on that plane ride.” She let out a choked laugh, recalling how she had finally let herself fall apart on the plane, and everyone had steered clear of her because, as she found out later, she’d been a scary mess with red eyes, a blotchy face and black streaks from her mascara. Of course, it probably hadn’t helped that she snapped at anyone who tried to talk to her.

“For the first time, I just hoped I'd make it in time to see you, at least to say goodbye,” she said softly.

“Afterwards, when I found out about your head injury, I wondered whether to pray that you would die peacefully or hope for you to live. There was no telling if you'd wake up brain damaged. I hated myself for even thinking that, but I know you, Neal. If you couldn’t paint or walk or talk…” She broke off, and turned away, unable to look him in the eyes, feeling ashamed. 

“Hey, it's okay. You're human. It's no worse than me feeling...” He paused and tried to choose the appropriate word. “...relieved that my father died so I don't have to deal with him anymore.”

Sara removed her hand and rubbed her eyes. “No, Neal, it's not okay. What if we'd had to make a decision? Look at you now—you're fine, and if, if...”

“That didn't happen, so don't even go there,” he said in a forceful tone. “It's all in the past, and I _am_ here, now.”

Sighing, she picked up his hand again, and traced the lines of his palm gently. “We waited... at first you were in a medically-induced coma. They ran test after test, and we got our hopes up when the swelling went down in your brain. The doctors were optimistic. But then you didn't wake up. I didn't know what was worse, watching you die or seeing you there, alive... yet still gone.

“I wouldn't leave the hospital. Elizabeth had told them the first night that I was your fiancé.” She paused and laughed softly at the look of surprise on Neal’s face. “I know, a little too Hollywood, but a part of me wondered if life was trying to tell me something.

“After my parents died, I'd learned to bottle everything up, keep people away from me. I worked hard, and for the most part, I was happy—content. It was easier that way, no one to lose, and no one to hurt me. Bryan was... well, I think we both know my heart probably wasn't in that relationship. But then you came along. I wasn't expecting to fall for you.”

She paused, and the corner of her mouth curled up at the memory of those first few days of the case. “I don't think you were expecting it, either.”

Neal shook his head and grinned. “I just wanted the recorder out of my face.”

Sara laughed, then quickly sobered. “After I found the treasure...”

“You broke if off so you wouldn't get hurt,” Neal finished for her softly.

She nodded. “It was for the best, right? I mean, the two of us, did you really expect us to work out?”

“I wanted it to.”

“I know.” She smiled. “A part of me did, too. But I had to protect myself.”

It had hurt to break it off with him back then, but Neal had crossed a line that Sara knew she couldn’t cross. She was comfortable with gray… not outright black. Only after finding out about the fallout and how Neal had handled it, along with a long open talk between them, had she allowed herself to wonder if they could work after all. And that had been only one bump in their rocky relationship.

“Maybe you were right to,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him startled. “What?”

“I ran—left you and everyone behind without a moment's notice.” He made a visible effort to squeeze her hand. “Look, Sara, it's okay. We haven't had the best timing. I understand if you moved on. It's only right that you did. You don't have to try to explain it.”

“No, no... it's not that. Neal, I just...” She ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, yes, we had bad timing. Trust me, I've gone over it a million times. Should I have stayed in New York? Would anything had gone differently?”

Neal frowned. “Sara, none of this was your fault. If anything, it probably would’ve just hurt worse.”

“You think I don't know that?” She let out a harsh laugh. “God, Neal. You have no idea what I went through. One moment I'm in London, trying to convince myself that I made the right choice, and the next I'm wondering if I had been right all along to close myself off. Because it hurt so damn much.”

She abruptly stood up and started pacing. “I didn't bother to correct Elizabeth or the nurses. It may not have been real, but you proposed. And you meant it. I just wanted that moment back. I wanted to tell you that I loved you—Neal Caffrey, not Nick Halden or anyone else you could’ve claimed to be. I wanted to slip that ring on again and hope that I'd walk down that aisle one day.

“What was a great job if I wasn't happy?” She stopped and stared at him. “You were restricted to a two-mile radius and yet you had a life. Friends, family—you had it all. And what did I have? I had a small flat in a foreign country, and a job.”

“Sara...” Neal held out his hand, wordlessly asking her to sit down again, but Sara turned and walked to the window silently. 

It had been a bittersweet time, realizing she had loved him, but had lost him again. She’d also been angry—at herself, at Neal… at life. She had seemed destined to lose everyone she loved. 

Crossing her arms over her chest, she closed her eyes, trying to find the courage to continue. She couldn’t stop the litany of images racing through her head, and tried to slow them down, breathing in and out slowly.

“I collapsed at the hospital two weeks later.”

She opened her eyes once the words were out, and stared out the window into the city skyline. The buildings blended together into one blinding mess of metal and glass. Blinking furiously, she turned from the bright sunlight and her eyes fell on Neal’s stunned face.

“Best place to do it really, in a hospital,” she quipped and chuckled, shrugging lightly. “Of course, I nearly gave poor Peter a heart attack. I'm surprised he isn't gray yet.”

Neal raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure he’s dying it,” he replied wryly. “I mean, if running after me all those years didn’t do it, I’m sure these past few did.”

She clapped a hand over her mouth and laughed. It was much needed after dredging up the memories of those first few weeks, but she knew it wasn’t over yet.

“Probably,” she agreed, with a nod. She walked back towards the chair, and pulled it closer to the bed. Taking one last deep breath, she continued. “I thought it was just because I was tired—we all were. The nurses had to kick us out at night.”

Sara watched his eyes run over her slowly, trying to figure out what had happened. Neal had always been so observant, it’s what had made him such a good con man. But this time, it was personal. He cared.

She picked up his hand, and tried to keep the tears at bay.

“Neal, I was pregnant.”

*~*~*~*

He looked just like him. Bright blue eyes and a smile that could light up a room.

A son.

Neal had a two-year-old son and he had missed out on so much. Sara had left him with some photos and home video. He would get to meet him the following day. But for now, he was catching up on two years of his son's life. 

The video was shaky because Peter had been laughing, watching the two-year-old tear into a beautifully wrapped Christmas present—that apparently was not his—much to the consternation of Sara. From what he could tell, only Peter and Elizabeth were there, having flown out to London to spend the holiday with Sara and Andrew. Or Uncle Peter and Aunt Elizabeth, as it were.

He paused the video and stared at the little boy. Because of WitSec, and running away at eighteen, Neal didn't have any pictures from his own childhood, except for that one photo that Ellen had given him. The face staring back at Neal could have been him. There was a little bit of Sara in him, but it was obvious that he was Neal's son.

Sara had broken down crying as she explained how she'd learned she was pregnant. How she'd agonized over what to do. In the end, she'd flown back to London two weeks later with the promise to return immediately if Peter called her with any news. She'd been torn, wanting to stay in New York to be close to him and have the support of Peter and Elizabeth. But it was Peter who convinced her that she had to think of her— _their_ —child and that meant being able to support him. Her new job was perfect for that, with a higher salary, less danger, and a normal work schedule. If anything ever came up and she could return, she'd be back in New York in a heartbeat.

They had all still hoped that Neal would wake up before the baby was born, but that didn't happen. Sara flew back one month before she was due and stayed with Peter and Elizabeth. Five weeks later, she gave birth to Andrew Jacob Caffrey. By that time, Neal had been in a coma for eight months and the doctors said his chances of waking up were slim. Andrew was now their only link to Neal.

And he was turning out to be quite a mini-Caffrey.

Neal looked at the stack of drawings that Peter had put up on the walls. His son was talented. It hadn't taken a big leap for Neal to realize that the drawings were Andrew's. Technically, Peter hadn't lied to him, he'd found out. Sara said Andrew shared his drawings with everyone, including the nurses when they had visited a couple months ago. But he would bet that Peter had brought some from his own collection.

Peter hadn't been able to tell him, Neal understood that, but he was vaguely amused that Peter had lied to him. Even if it had technically been a lie of omission. For a second, he'd been outraged that everyone had kept this from him, only to see the pain on Sara’s face and realize that this had been her story to tell. She’d been living it daily, watching their son grow up, and seeing Neal in him every day.

Not only that, but apparently Andrew also had the propensity to bat his eyelashes and charm those around him to get what he wanted. Sara confessed that she was only now getting stronger at saying ‘no’ to him.

Neal was still a little dazed by the whole revelation that he had a son. He'd always wanted kids, but to wake up and find out he was an instant father? It was a lot to take in, especially since he could barely take care of himself right now. Not to say anything of the fact that Sara and Andrew lived in London.

But to his surprise, that was the one thing he didn’t have to worry about—much to his relief. He knew he couldn’t reasonably expect her to uproot their lives because of him, especially when he didn’t have a job or a radius confining him here anymore. However, he did have Peter and Elizabeth, and he wasn’t quite ready to leave New York. He would have, though, without question.

Thankfully he didn’t have to make that decision.

Sara would return to London for a month to help Sterling Bosch find her replacement and transition, while packing up her flat. June had kept an open door to her and Andrew over the years, and they would stay there until she could find a new place. Also, having known that this day might come, Sara had already worked it out with her company to return to the New York office. It wouldn’t be as VP, but she didn’t seem concerned and had all but brushed it off as she explained everything.

Sara was nothing if not prepared, and Neal suspected she’d been living with one foot out the door this entire time, ready to leave when the time came, even as hope had faded. Knowing how hard she had worked to get this job, though, made him feel bad that she was throwing it away for him.

Except it wasn’t _just_ for him, was it? It was for Andrew, and for her as well. They might not have had a traditional relationship, but they had found something, and neither of them were willing to walk away, not again.

Although reality rarely lived up to expectations, and he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The desire to fix everything was human nature, and he wished it would go as smoothly as she planned. Mending a relationship and creating a family was going to take time and a lot of hard work on both their parts.

And that was assuming his own situation improved. He’d confessed to Peter that he was scared he wouldn’t get better, and with a long rehabilitation staring him in the face, he worried that he’d only be another burden on Sara and everyone else when he came out. She didn’t deserve that after everything she’d been through.

He wanted to be the one she relied on and to be a father to Andrew, but more importantly, he wanted to be the man she had fallen in love with, the man he used to be. But even if he regained his motor skills, Neal had no idea what he would do now.

There were still too many unknowns, and that did not sit well with him.

*~*~*~*

“Would you stop that?”

Neal paused, mid-squeeze, and glanced from the toy Mozzie had left for him, and back towards Peter. The toy, a rather comical yet sad looking pug, had eyes that bulged when you squeezed it, and just also happened to squeak. It was good for working his grip, but also perhaps meant more as a joke. Knowing Mozzie, it was probably the latter.

“Sorry.” He laid it down on his lap, but found himself needing to do something with his hands and itched to pick it back up.

“Don’t be nervous,” Peter said, and Neal’s eyes widened, surprised that it had been that obvious. 

He would definitely have to work on that. It was disheartening enough that he had the physical dexterity of a baby, but more so that he’d lost control of his emotions and could no longer mask what he was thinking.

“Easy for you to say,” Neal retorted. “You’re not the one who’s meeting his son for the first time.”

“Maybe, but there’s really nothing to be nervous about. Andrew is going to be so excited to meet you. He’s two, not thirteen, so he’s not exactly going to be upset that you haven’t been around,” Peter pointed out.

Neal shrugged. “But I’m also a stranger—a stranger that until now he’s only seen sleeping in a hospital bed. I’m sure that was scary enough, I can’t imagine suddenly seeing me awake is going to help matters.”

“Remember, he’s _two_ , Neal.”

“Two and a half,” Neal corrected.

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean he understands everything. Or _remembers_ , either. He’s young, and very sociable. Really, there hasn’t been anyone he doesn’t immediately become friends with, and I doubt that will change now, especially with you. Neal, you’re his father, and he knows that.”

“He’s going to ask questions. Why was I asleep? Why haven’t I been there with him and Sara? He’s not going to understand.”

Sighing, Peter shook his head and leaned forward. “Sara’s already preparing him. Trust me, he’s just going to be excited to see you, to play with you, and he will move on. You’re not going away, and eventually that will become normal to him. He’ll forget you were ever gone.”

Neal frowned. It was hardly comforting to just brush it off, saying his son would forget eventually. “But I _wasn’t_ there for him, and he’s going to understand that one day.

“No one remembers their early childhood, Neal,” Peter countered in an exasperated tone. “It’s going to be one of those stories we talk about, an anecdote that, frankly, is hard to believe, much less be upset over. He’ll understand that it wasn’t your fault, and you would have been there otherwise. What’s important is that you will be there for the most important years of his life. Remember that, because that’s all that matters.”

Peter gave him a small smile. “You’re here now. Be happy that you have this chance.”

Neal nodded and smiled softly. “I am. I’m just…”

“Terrified?” Peter supplied.

He chuckled. “Yes.”

“Don’t be. It’s not like you’re going to drop him and he’s going to break. He’s a pretty resilient kid.”

“Right, he’s a kid, probably full of energy, and I can’t exactly play with him right now. I’m afraid he’s going to get bored with me.”

Peter grinned. “Full of energy is right, and that’s exactly why you have nothing to worry about. He can entertain himself. You basically just have to nod and listen.”

“Okay, what happened to the Peter Burke who could barely talk to kids?”

“He’s Uncle Peter now, and who said I’m good with kids?” he scoffed. “I’m taking my own advice here too, you know. Remember, I’ve only seen him a handful of times, and he was so young he didn’t recognize me on subsequent visits. We’re in the same boat here, pal.”

Neal shook his head and smirked. “Do you know what’s more surprising than you playing with my son, Peter?”

“What’s that?”

“That Sara is a mom. I hate that she had to do it on her own, but she’s done a great job. It’s pretty amazing.” He shared a smile with Peter. “I’d never really pictured her settling down like that. After I proposed, we talked about what life could have been like, moving to Westchester and raising kids.” He paused, and smiled fondly at the memory. “We joked that we’d name them Conrad and Connie.”

Peter was quiet and Neal glanced out the window. For him, it seemed like just a few weeks ago. He wished he had been there when she found out. It wouldn’t have been the perfect situation, but they would have made it work.

“She couldn’t believe it either,” Peter spoke up softly and Neal turned his attention back to his friend. “I think…” he paused, seemingly looking for the right words. “Sara was shocked, and while a part of her wasn’t ready to have a baby, I think your accident made her realize that you had to accept life’s gifts whenever and wherever they come from, whether you’re ready or not.”

Neal nodded and smiled sadly. He couldn’t imagine what she had gone through, and how difficult it must have been to do it alone, much less in a foreign country, and starting a new job.

...and wondering if she’d have to do it alone, forever. Although, he wouldn’t have blamed her if she had moved on. Andrew needed a father, and she needed someone too, no matter how much she’d claim otherwise.

“Thank you for being there for her,” he said finally.

“You’re welcome,” Peter replied, and gave him a short nod. He paused, then added softly, “You’ll be fine, too, Neal. We’re all here for you.”

*~*~*~*

When the door finally opened, his eyes rested on Sara for the briefest of moments. Like the day before, her appearance was casual, and only now did he understand and appreciate the change. Today she wore a dark green sweater with a soft cowl neck over a pair of jeans. Neal had rarely seen her dress down so much, but the little boy on her hip explained it all.

His breath caught in his throat. Andrew was beautiful. Long, thick eyelashes framed bright blue eyes, open wide with curiosity as they looked around the room. Everyone had said Andrew looked just like Neal, but he saw Sara in him, from the shape of his face to the slight point of his chin, and that made his heart swell. This little boy was _theirs_ , and it was incredible.

It felt wrong that this moment was taking place the way it was, though, with Neal more so the baby than his son. His heart broke, knowing that he had missed out on that first moment, holding him in his arms. Nevertheless, the smile stretched across his face, and his eyes watered, as he soaked in this precious moment.

“Hey there, we made it,” Sara said, shifting Andrew up on her side. “Unfortunately, this little guy is still jetlagged. We’re making progress, but someone was up early and thinks it’s nap time right now. Although trust me, if he were wide awake right now, you’d wish he would slow down.” She looked down and smiled into Andrew’s big blue eyes. “You’re a handful, aren’t you? Just like your daddy.”

Neal swallowed hard.

It was real. He was a father. Andrew wasn’t just a photo or a hypothetical. He wished he could have eased into it, but there was no turning back time. This little boy was going to look up to him and rely on him to be there. There was no way that Neal would let his son down. It might take him awhile, but he was going to be there for him.

Peter stood up and smiled at Sara and Andrew. “I’ll leave you guys to have some fun.” 

Bending over to grab his jacket from the chair, Peter gave Neal a reassuring smile and squeezed his shoulder, then waved at Andrew, who returned the wave tiredly and laid his head back down on Sara’s shoulder. Peter left the room quietly, leaving the three of them alone.

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence that hung in the air before Sara moved to the table in the corner. She dropped the bag slung over her arm along with her purse next to the stack of games, all while Andrew clung to her side.

“I hope you don’t mind, but we brought our own entertainment,” Sara explained.

“What, you didn’t want to play Clue?”

Sara shook her head, and smiled lightly. “No, I don’t think we’re quite ready for that. Coloring is more his thing.”

Neal glanced at the drawings on the wall and back at the little boy, and the flutter of nerves in his stomach lessened ever so slightly. “I think I can handle that.”

Stepping forward, she crossed the room in a few short strides and suddenly Neal was nearly face to face with his son. Sara shifted Andrew once more, and ran a hand over the back of his neck.

“Sweetie, remember what we talked about before we left?”

Andrew picked up his head and looked at her. A smile stretched across her face, and Neal could see that she looked lighter than she had yesterday. A weight had been lifted. Knowing he had caused her this pain made his stomach twist once more. Sara had always been so strong, but this had been too much. 

“I want you to meet your dad.”

She set him down on the bed, and Andrew looked at him curiously. “Neal, this is your son. Andrew.”

Neal smiled shakily. “Hi, Andrew.”

Andrew blinked and cocked his head, staring at him with wide owlish eyes. Sara brushed a waft of hair off his forehead and kissed him softly. “Say ‘hi,’ Andrew.”

The boy leaned forward and touched Neal’s cheek. “Daddy all better?”

Neal felt his face falter and his hand shook as he reached up to take Andrew’s hand. He pushed back the tears, knowing there was no way to explain to someone so young that he wasn’t all better, and simply nodded. “Yes. Daddy’s here.”

Andrew’s eyes lit up, and before Neal could react, the little boy crawled over and wrapped his arms around him. Neal looked down, shocked, and after a beat, slowly hugged him back. 

Holding his son in his arms for the first time was surreal. He wasn’t a baby anymore, but no matter, it made his heart swell to look at him and know that Andrew was a part of him. And that he loved Neal unconditionally.

Neal might not have been there in the beginning, but he was here now. Everything he did going forward, he had to consider Andrew and Sara. Everything he worked for—was now for them, so he could be there for them, and take care of them.

Andrew snuggled deeper into his side, and Sara shook her head, running a hand down his back. “How about you color with Daddy, Andrew? I’m sure he’d love to see you draw.”

That seemed to catch his attention and he brightened up, reaching out his hands. “Draw!”

Sara quickly retrieved a coloring book, a sketchbook, and a box of crayons from her bag and returned to his bedside. Sitting down in Peter’s vacated chair, she held out the coloring book and sketchbook. Without pause Andrew pointed to the sketchbook and she opened it, turning to a blank page and handed it over. Andrew dropped the sketchbook in his lap and held out his hands expectedly. She carefully opened the box of crayons and gave him a select few. Neal grinned as the boy frowned, obviously used to having the entire box.

“Oh, go ahead and dump them all out. It’s fine,” Neal said.

Sara raised an eyebrow. “There’s sixty-four of them.”

“That’s all?” he teased with a twinkle in his eye.

She rolled her eyes, but nonetheless shook the box slowly, letting a dozen or so crayons slide out on the blanket. Andrew immediately picked out a blue crayon and bent over, his attention clearly now on the paper before him.

Neal watched as the outline of a crude plane took shape. He smiled as Andrew’s tongue peeked out of his mouth as he concentrated. The underbelly was soon blue and small windows dotted the side after that. Then he picked up a red crayon and added some swirls to the tail.

“That’s a nice plane, Andrew. Did you have fun on the flight to New York?” he asked.

Andrew nodded, but did not look up. “Yeah. We fly in the clouds!”

Neal chuckled. “Yes, you did. Did you have a window seat and look out?”

This time Andrew looked up and his eyes were bright with excitement. “Mommy let me! They were big and fluffy!”

“Why don’t you draw them?” Neal suggested, pointing down at the plane.

Andrew looked back down and cocked his head to the side. He thought for a moment, then exchanged his red crayon for a light blue one. Carefully, he outlined a cloud, then another and started to color around them, filling in the sky.

It wasn’t a masterpiece, but Neal could only smile as he watched Andrew studiously work. This was his son, and the fact that he had clearly taken after Neal so early was astonishing. He wanted to be there to witness everything, to show him how to paint or ride a bike. That was his job now.

He looked back at Sara, who was watching them with her own smile, and their eyes met. _This_ was what it was all about, he realized. He had a life here, with friends and family—both old and new. They loved him and they weren’t leaving him anytime soon.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but he wouldn’t change a thing.


	5. Epilogue

**Six Months Later**

“If you don’t stop wiggling, you’re going to look more like a Heffalump, and less like Tigger, buddy,”

Andrew’s legs stilled, and Neal gave him a bright smile in encouragement, as he continued to paint his son’s face.

The doorbell rang and Neal quickly pulled back just as Andrew whipped his head to the side. “Stay where you are. Mommy can get it.”

Sara walked past them, leaving the kitchen, while Neal tried to finish Andrew’s face before he totally lost his son’s attention to their guests. This was his first Halloween, and while he probably didn’t understand the finer aspects of it, Andrew was excited about dressing up and spending time with his Uncle Peter.

“Whoa, look at what we have here! Is that Tigger I see?” Peter called out, and Neal gave up as Andrew grinned and waved.

“Unc-a P’tr!!”

“Oh, wow! You look incredible, sweetie!” Elizabeth exclaimed as she followed Peter into the kitchen. She went immediately over to the table where Andrew was sitting and made a point of oohing and ahhing over his costume. Andrew soaked up the attention, his eyes shining bright and legs swinging away.

“You did good. And Tigger—now that’s appropriate,” Peter remarked, sliding Neal a knowing smile.

Neal scoffed and walked over to the sink to wash his hands. “You’re telling me. I can barely get him to stop running around.”

Peter let out a low chuckle, and smirked. Neal knew he was enjoying how roles had reversed and rolled his eyes. 

“Now, I’ll need you to explain your get-up. Who are you supposed to be?” Peter asked, waving at Neal’s own painted face and costume.

Beaming, Neal picked up a headband with two furry ears from the table and slid it on his head. “I’m Nick Wilde.”

Peter’s face was blank. “Who?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Tsk, tsk, Uncle Peter. You need catch up on your Disney films. Nick is from _Zootopia_. It came out last year.”

“Excuse me?” Peter's eyebrows shot up, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Since when? I’m not a Disney expert, but isn’t Andrew a little young?”

“It’s a movie with talking animals, Peter,” Neal replied, giving him a pointed look. “He may not understand the plot, but he can still enjoy it. And for the record, it’s a really good movie. Let me tell you, you’ll watch anything when you’re stuck in a hospital for months on end.”

He’d had a steady stream of visitors in rehab, but Neal had to entertain himself most of the time. Watching Disney movies with his son had been a highlight, even if most of the time Andrew fell asleep half way through. He just appreciated spending time with him, and getting to know him. It was even better once he was ambulatory and could actively play with Andrew. Coloring had been a frequent activity.

“Anyway,” Neal continued, “Zootopia is about a society of animals, much like us, where Judy Hopps, a bunny,” he paused and Sara pointed to her own rabbit ears, “aspires to be a police officer, and enlists the help of Nick Wilde, a fox and con artist, to help solve her first case.”

Peter snorted. “Nice. You would identify with him, wouldn’t you? Did he wear a tie as well or is this your addition?”

It was Sara’s turn to laugh. “Oh, it’s in character alright, and if it weren’t for Nick’s green eyes, I’d say they modeled him after Neal.”

“I’m just glad you have pants,” Peter replied wryly.

Elizabeth looked up from where she’d been chatting with Andrew and giggled. Apparently she had been listening in.

Neal sighed. “Yes, Peter, in Zootopia, they wear clothes, _including_ pants, just like us. Besides, if they didn’t, I would.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.”

Turning around, Neal wiggled his hips. “Do you like my tail?”

“Oh, good grief.”

Neal turned back around and laughed. “You know, I can paint your face too, if you want. How about we make you Chief Bogo, the African buffalo? Or you can be a bear, a baboon...”

“Real funny,” Peter drawled, but smiled. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

“It’s not a Monet or Degas, but yeah… I am,” Neal answered honestly. His hands still weren’t the steadiest, but they were getting better and just being able to color and paint with Andrew was enough for him.

Since he left rehab, he hadn’t worried about what he was going to do with his life. He was happy staying at home with Andrew. His family came first, and no con or adrenaline rush could tear him away.

“I might take up Jessica’s offer though,” he said and shrugged lightly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Jessica was an art therapist that had visited his rehab center. As an artist, it had been a difficult time. He’d barely been able to hold a paintbrush in the beginning, but with Jessica’s patience and understanding, he had found peace in accepting his limitations, and challenged himself to start over.

Each day was still sometimes a struggle. As he had told Peter, tests weren't perfect, or infallible. His head injury had left lasting effects, but he’d been lucky they had been mild. Physically, he still wasn’t one hundred percent, and he still had brief lapses of memory and vocabulary, yet, he was the happiest he’d ever been. 

“Just a few classes a week, right?”

Jessica had asked if he would like to help out with some of her art therapy classes. Having gone through an injury himself, he understood what they were going through, and wanted to give them hope that it would get better. He’d had enough second chances to know it was possible. 

Neal nodded. “Yeah. I’d probably start with a couple, and see how it goes. It’ll be nice to get out of the house, and I’m sure Andrew would have fun with it, too.”

Peter glanced over to where Andrew was excitedly chatting away with Sara and Elizabeth, and smiled. “I bet.”

It was a small step in regaining his life, albeit a different one. He might not be able to forge the Masters anymore, but this felt more worthwhile of his time and would reward him in a way he hadn’t felt before.

Maybe he wasn’t helping out Peter and the FBI, and maybe he wasn’t a suave conman who jumped out of buildings, but this new life meant so much more to him. He had a family—an even bigger one than before, and he would never give that up, because they had never given up on him.

Everyone had stepped up to help out the past few months, from helping Sara find a place, to babysitting Andrew, and shuttling him back and forth to spend time with Neal while Sara worked. They might have moved on in his absence, but he was still a part of their lives, he’d realized, just in a different way.

“Well, how about we get this show on the road?” Peter clapped his hands. “Who’s ready for candy?”

“Yay!!!” Andrew screamed, and Neal and Sara shared a knowing look. They were in for a long night.

Elizabeth handed Andrew his pumpkin bucket, and he skipped out of the kitchen before anyone else said a word.

“Maybe he’ll be so tired by the end, that he’ll forget about the candy?” Neal offered.

Everyone laughed.

Yeah, it wasn’t likely.

But Neal couldn’t really complain. He wouldn’t trade this life, not for anything else in the world.

_Fin_


End file.
